


Don’t Poke The Bear

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cursed Castiel (Supernatural), Feral Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, The Winchesters Cuddle Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Once the curse wears off, Cas will be fine.Until then, he’s feral, and in a corner of the war room and shows no sign of coming out.  All they can do is make him feel as comfortable and safe andhomeas possible until he comes back to himself.But Ketch is impatient and has no time for mollycoddling an angel.  Besides, he he has a plan to snap Castiel out of this condition a lot faster.





	Don’t Poke The Bear

When Dean heard Ketch approaching, he reached behind him to wave the man off. Taking his eyes off Cas didn’t seem like such a great idea.

Their angel was a little unpredictable right now, and Dean didn’t want him any more upset than he already was.

So, when he heard the clatter of metal on wood, he didn’t immediately turn around.

Not until Cas honest to goodness snarled, eyes flaring, and Dean figured he’d better take care of whatever had set Cas off before things got a whole lot worse.

When he saw what Ketch had just dropped on the table, Dean wanted to shoot him. “No fucking way.”

Ketch looked unimpressed by either the angel or the hunter’s reaction, and pushed the thick metal collar and chains towards them both.

“Do you think it’s safe to leave him loose, like this? He might tear your throat out. Until he comes out of whatever _this_ is, we have to be practical. It’s that or the dungeon.”

Sam was standing a few feet from Dean, making sure, like his brother, to stay where Cas could easily see him. 

“It’s neither,” he said, and his tone made it clear they had no further interest in anything Ketch had to say on the subject.

Dean turned back to face Cas and, sure enough, he’d crept forward a few feet until he was close enough to Dean to touch.

But as soon as Dean was facing him again, Cas hissed and retreated to the corner, tucking himself in as far as he could get, and glaring at all of them.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean pleaded. “Come on, you know us. Snap out of it.”

_We need you_ , he prayed, but there was no sign that prayers were reaching the angel right then.

“He doesn’t know you,” Ketch said. “Not like this, anyway. He’s little more than a feral beast. Which is how we should treat him.”

Yeah, Dean bet that was what Ketch wanted to do. He’d treated Cas like an animal since the minute they met, and this was probably the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

But that was not an animal. That was Cas, their angel, their family, and while Dean didn’t understand just how that curse box had changed Cas (or what it would have done to them if Cas hadn’t snatched the box from their hands just as the lid opened) but Rowena had assured them it would be temporary.

Given her ‘consultation’ was over the phone, since she was too busy to actually come to them, Dean couldn’t as certain as she was.

But she’d advised them to do their best to keep Cas calm, and settled, and do what they could to remind him he was home, with family, and above all, safe.

So far, all they’d managed to do was get Cas to growl at them. And try to hide in the corner.

Sam inched a little closer to Dean, making Cas squint at him warily.

“Maybe trying to get him out of the corner is the wrong idea,” he said.

Dean kept his eyes on the angel. “You think we should leave him there?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Look, Dean, he made a beeline for it and I think it’s because he can feel like the wall’s at his back but he can keep an eye on us and anybody trying to come up on him. He’s not thinking like an angel right now, or even like Cas.”

That made sense. So if Cas was going to stay in the corner until this was over, the least they could do was make him as comfortable as possible.

In the end, Sam grabbed some blankets from his and Dean’s rooms, and slid them across the floor to the angel. Dean snagged a couple of the chairs and pushed them close enough that Cas could reach them if he chose, or push them away again if he didn’t like them.

They started to back up, Dean snagging Ketch’s arm when he realised the Brit wasn’t moving, instead staring in impatience at the chairs, the blankets, and the angel.

“Are you trying to build him a fort? How… _cute_.”

“We’re trying to make this easier on him,” Dean said. “You know what, you don’t need to worry about it. Cas’ll come out of this in his own good time.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem if we didn’t have a genocidal archangel on the loose.”

Dean wondered how Cas would react if he punched Ketch out then and there. Probably clap.

“I’m the one who had him in my head,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice calm, hoping not to let Cas see he was agitated. “I fucking know.”

They reached the corridor, and Sam touched the light switch, dimming the overheads until the room was half dark.

Cas was staring at them, curiously, but he seemed to be a little more relaxed.

“You’re not actually going to leave him in here alone, unobserved.” Ketch sounded as if the whole thing was ludicrous, and as if Cas wasn’t the only one who’d taken temporary leave of his faculties.

“Yeah,” Dean said, and he grabbed the front of Ketch’s black shirt. “ _We_ are.”

He and Sam backed up, forcing Ketch with them, until they were clear of the war room, and only then did they turn around.

++

Ketch left it maybe an hour, until the Winchesters were too distracted with research to pay him any more mind.

Apparently, while they put some faith in their witch, sitting by while the angel suffered was something they simply couldn’t do, and they were busily trying to find another way to help him.

Ketch had an idea, but he doubted it would sit well with them; not that it mattered, since he had no intention of asking their permission.

He crept back along the corridors, pausing only to collect an item from his room.

When he reached the war room, he stood at the entrance for a moment, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the low light, and then he saw enough to convince him his plan of action would work.

The angel had tugged the chairs in, in some ridiculous attempt at creating a den or a barricade. But he was sitting behind them, wrapped in the blankets Sam had left for him, and Ketch could see him nuzzling the blankets every few moments as if scenting them.

Or as if he were rubbing their scent on himself.

He looked at the cattle prod in his hands. The tip was forged from melted down Enochian metal, the same material the angels made their swords from, which meant the shock it would deliver would affect even a halo.

It wouldn’t do much in the way of damage, causing pain rather than actual injury, but the purpose here was to drive Castiel, not take him out of commission.

Ketch had other things to use for that, if it became necessary, but he’d rather the angel remained alive and returned to his previous annoying, but of use, condition.

There was no time for this softly-softly approach the Winchesters had adopted, not when Michael could come at them at any moment.

He knew Castiel had spotted him. As he moved closer, the angel pulled the blankets tighter around him and a low growl filled the air.

“There, there, halo,” Ketch said. “You remember me, don’t you? We’re old friends. We’ve fought together, old chum. There’s no need to get excited.”

He charged the prod, electricity sparking at the tip, and Castiel flinched as it drew his focus.

Yes, this would work. One or two jolts would do it, since the angel scurrying back to his masters, and that would hopefully jar loose his memories of who he was.

The Winchesters’ pet angel.

As Ketch moved closer, Cas shrugged off the blankets, and stood up. He kicked one of the chairs, and sent it scraping across the floor towards Ketch.

Ketch blocked it with his foot, and waved the prod in the halo’s direction.

“Now, that was most unfriendly, Castiel. Be a good little angel, do.”

He jabbed at Cas with the cattle prod, missing deliberately, but prompting Cas to swipe at it before pulling back.

He snarled, again, and this time Ketch thrust the prod forward to score a hit on Cas’s hip.

Cas yelped and darted back, but the hiding place of earlier was now his trap, and he had no space to retreat. He seemed to realise that, and Ketch moved right, clearing a path for Castiel to flee towards where he could no doubt sense the Winchesters.

He stabbed in with the prod once again, but this time Cas was ready. He caught the prod in his hand, ignoring the painful sparking of electricity against his skin, and held on even when Ketch tried to yank it free.

“Let it go, Castiel. Yes, that’s it. Just let go of it and we can take you to Sam and Dean. You remember them, don’t you? You remember them!”

He pulled hard on the prod once more, and this time Cas did let go, causing Ketch to stagger back and drop the prod.

He was the one snarling now, and reached into his pocket to slip on the sigiled knuckle dusters that would do more than just give the halo a painful jolt.

This would send him scurrying for his owners.

Ketch had barely taken a step when Castiel saw what he was wearing. And clearly remembered them.

He gave a long, low snarl, that made Ketch’s hair stand on end. It sounded bloodthirsty, and for the first time since he’d come up with this idea, he was considering if it had been such an excellent notion after all.

++

The scream of pain that reached Dean and Sam, in the archive at the end of the corridor, didn’t sound at all like Cas.

When Dean looked at Sam, and they both looked around, it was to see that Ketch was no longer where they’d last seen him, searching a row of books for anything they might find to help Cas.

“Fucker,” Dean said, and then they were both running back to the war room.

Sam broke off half way there, and Dean didn’t have time to yell at him, or ask where he was going. He kept running, and when he reached the room, he slapped the light switch, almost dazzling himself.

Ketch was on his back on the map table, Cas sitting astride him, with his hands fastened around Ketch’s throat.

Ketch was gurgling, face purple, and clawing desperately at Cas’s hands, though his struggles were doing no good at all.

“Cas!” Dean yelled. “Cas, come on, get off him.”

But it was as if Cas didn’t hear him, or was maybe too far gone to know who was crying out to him.

If Dean didn’t stop him now, somehow, Ketch was going to die. 

And then Sam was pushing past him, shouldering Dean aside, and there was something in his hands, and Dean screamed at him as he took aim and fired.

Again, again, again.

But it wasn’t bullets that smacked into their angel; instead, three brightly coloured darts imbedded themselves in Cas’s neck, and arm, and he whipped his head round to give them what Dean was sure was a betrayed, hurt look.

His grip on Ketch loosened, and the Brit drew in a strangled breath, but wisely chose not to move other than that.

Cas wobbled, and gave a low whine, before he toppled to the floor.

The brothers ran to him, turning him onto his back. Dean removed the darts, and looked at the tranq gun in Sam’s hands.

“Where the hell?”

Sam looked guiltily at Ketch. “When he came back, he, uh, gave me some things for the armoury. Kind of a good will gesture.”

Right. Including a gun that tranquilised angels. He was sure Ketch had totally legit reasons for having that.

And the fact he’d given it to Sam..

The fact that Sam had _taken_ it.

“We’re talking about this later,” Dean said, and he saw Sam wince.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Ketch groaned, sitting up and rubbing his throat. 

Dean was busy helping Sam get Cas over his shoulder, and shot the Brit a vicious look. “I didn’t hear anybody asking.”

++

Someone was holding him.

Cas stayed very still, trying to place himself, remember what had happened, and why he wasn’t instantly aware of recent events.

Or who was on either side of him, pressed in close, and…

And holding him down.

He tensed, ready to fight if need be, and then someone was cupping his face.

“Hey, angel. I know you’re in there, come on the whole way out, huh?”

A large hand settled on the back of his neck, thumb stroking along his hairline.

“Yeah, Cas. Please, let us know you’re okay?”

Cas opened his eyes, and found Dean Winchester staring back at him.

Dean grinned when he saw that Cas was awake, and then nodded over Cas’s head at someone else.

Strong arms locked around his waist, squeezing him tight, and then Dean was reaching around him to hug him as well.

“You scared the shit out of us,” Sam said, and Cas looked over his shoulder enough to see the younger Winchester’s expression.

Sam looked more relieved than Cas had seen him in a long time.

He didn’t move, happy to lie there, secure in their hold, unsure as to why it felt so good or was affecting him so deeply.

Or what had happened.

His puzzlement must have showed, because Dean asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Cas shut his eyes, tried to think. It shouldn’t be so hard, but….

Yes. The curse box; he’d seen the power building in it even as Ketch was taking it from Dean, and lifting the lid, and he would get all three of them killed, and Cas had grabbed the box, and turned away, putting his body between it and them, and after that….

He remembered nothing else.

He didn't like that.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, correctly interpreting his silence. “It’ll come back to you, Cas. The only thing that matters is you’re okay.”

“No thanks to Ketch,” Dean muttered, and suddenly Cas did remember something.

He remember trying to kill Ketch, and he sat up fast, inadvertently pulling free from the Winchesters’ embrace.

“Is he alright?” Not that he had any great love for the Man of Letters, but he knew Dean considered him more ally than enemy these days, and Cas was to blame if his lack of self control, curse or not, had caused the other man to be hurt.

“Don’t fucking worry about him,” Dean said, and then he was easing Cas down to lie between them again. “Fucker came at you with a cattle prod and knuckle dusters; that’s why you were choking him.”

“Oh.”

He let them return him to his earlier position, puzzled, but not complaining, and Sam again seemed to know what he was thinking.

“We had to knock you out,” he said, and somehow Cas knew we meant _I_. “To get you off him, and we called Rowena, and she said...she suggested we try to make you feel safe, and with your family.”

That explained their current positions, again not that he was complaining. He would take this more frequently from the brothers, except physical affection was only something they seemed able to show each other when they were hurt or about to say goodbye.

This was definitely better, and Cas found himself snuggling in a little further before he realised it.

He didn’t miss the amused grin that passed between the two brothers.

“I’ve been cursed,” he pointed out, almost petulantly, and Dean laughed, but there was no meanness in it.

“Yeah, buddy, we know. Saving our hides, as usual.”

To Cas’s surprise, Dean settled back down, and a moment later Sam was pressed up against his back, and they had their arms around him once again.

Then a most unwelcome thought occurred to him. “Where’s Ketch?”

Dean’s eyes were closed, but he showed Cas a wicked smile.

“He had some crappy idea about sticking you in the dungeon until the curse wore off,” Sam explained.

Cas bristled. “Oh.”

But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he was here.

When no further explanation seemed forth coming from Dean, Sam continued.

“So, we figured he could use a taste of what it was like. We’ll let him out in a while.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in, finally. “There’s no rush.”


End file.
